


Stealing Fire

by SineVestigio



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Dean, Angry John, Angry Sex, Bottom Sam, Bottom Sam Winchester, M/M, Sad Dean, Sad Dean Winchester, Sad Sam, Sad Sam Winchester, Sam and John fight, This is so angsty, Top Dean, Top Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, and sad, but what else is new, dean winchester is hurting, the one time sam didn't choose dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8561659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SineVestigio/pseuds/SineVestigio
Summary: Sam is leaving for Stanford, and Dean doesn't know how to cope with the loss of his little brother.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title is inspired by the song Stealing Fire by Bob Moses

Everything hurt.

There was a bone-deep ache throughout Dean's entire body, a constant reminder of what tomorrow was. His eyes were red from crying, lids falling heavily with exhaustion. The splintering pieces of his broken heart punctured his lungs, making it hard to breathe. His soul seemed to have burnt out, as if all the glowing life had been sucked up, selfishly, by his stupid, beautiful little brother.

Dean's back was stinging with the tiny crescent marks Sam created with his fingernails. Some of them were bleeding, and Dean welcomed the pain, hoped they would scar. He wanted Sam to mark him up, tear him apart, leave him open and vulnerable, so that he could have something, anything, to remember him by. Dean had given Sam a temporary keepsake of his own, the marks on the younger Winchester's neck arranged in a delicate curve around his collar bones.

Sam had always looked pretty in purple.

He looked so gorgeous that Dean decided to give him a garter made of bites to match his necklace made of hickeys. The teeth marks on Sam's thigh were redder than the bruises on his neck, but Dean admired the subtle contrast.

There were tears on Sam's cheeks. The salty drops ran from his hazel eyes and rolled down into his hair, wound tightly in Dean's fist. Once upon a time, Dean would've kissed them away, whispering sweet nothings into Sam's ear. Not anymore. The tenderness in Dean's touch was gone, it has been ever since Sam told him he was leaving. Everything was brutal aching and gut-wrenching longing, despite the fact that Sam was still pliant under Dean's fingertips. He didn't know it was possible to miss someone right in front of you.

"Dean, it's okay," Sam whispered in a watery voice, cupping his brother's face.

He wanted to scream. No, it most definitely was _not_ okay. Their time together was ticking, dwindling, even now, in the dead of night with nobody but each other, Dean could hear the hands of the clock counting down, down, down. There was less than twenty four hours until Sam walked out that door and completely forgot about Dean, their family, and everything they shared together.

"Quit it," Dean demanded, pulling Sam off his back and into his lap as he sat up.

Sam groaned, the new position pulling Dean deeper inside of him. Dean couldn't help but jerk his hips up into the tight, wet heat of his little brother. The movement pushed a strangled moan from Sam's lips, and Dean locked the noise away in his brain, like this was the last time he'd ever hear it.

"Move," he said in the crook of Sam's neck.

Sam remained still, urging Dean to meet his eyes, to tell him that everything would work out alright. "Look at me," he mumbled, gently stroking over Dean's shoulder, "C'mon please, please, look at me."

" _Move_ ," Dean growled again, not willing to give an inch. Sam obeyed, reluctantly lifting himself up, before sinking back down.

The hands at Dean's nape became relentless, unforgiving reminders that Sam could play this game too. He pulled hard and mean, then dug his nails into the scratches he'd already left on Dean's back, reopening the wounds and bringing blood to the surface. Dean nipped at the sensitive skin of Sam's jaw, reprimanding him and praising him at the same time.

 _Good_ , he thought, _show me you want me. But don't forget I'm hurting because of you._

Sam gasped when Dean brushed his prostate, turning to jelly in his brother's arms. Dean grabbed his hips, picking him up and slamming him down, continuing to hit that sweet spot every time. His thrusts were angry, erratic, desperate to own Sam from the inside out. If this was the last time he could ever have Sam, he'd make sure neither of them forgot it.

"Don't stop," Sam pleaded, breathless and defeated. He'd given up on making Dean forgive him and was surrendering to the pleasure-pain his brother was willing to give.

"Wasn't planning on it," Dean huffed, laying Sam flat once more and bringing his leg up over his shoulder.

Sam keened, loud and needy, and Dean was glad their father wasn't home. This was a position they'd never tried before, Sam always said he wasn't flexible enough. Tonight, Dean didn't give him much of a choice.

"Oh God," Sam whined, grabbing at Dean's body wherever he could. Dean reached around himself to pry Sam's hands off. He placed his little brother's hands above his head, then used his left arm to simultaneously keep Sam's wrists pinned together and support his weight. Using his right hand, Dean reached between their bodies to start jerking Sam off in quick, fast motions, occasionally pulling away to readjust the leg over his shoulder.

After going at it for nearly three hours, Dean knew Sam was sore. He felt it in the way Sam's body quivered, heard it in the way his breath hitched every time Dean fucked up into him. They never kissed. Sam had tried and tried and tried, silently begging Dean to show him things were going to get better. But Dean wasn't okay. He wasn't sure if he would ever be okay again, not while Sam was thousands of miles away, finding comfort in the arms of someone else. The paternal side of Dean, that's always taken care of Sam, wanted nothing more than to press their lips together and reassure his brother that this would pass. That this was just a fight, a phase, something they'd get over and move on from in a few days time. As Sam's lover, his partner, his soulmate, his everything, Dean took a sick sort of satisfaction at watching him crumble to pieces. Because this wasn't temporary, this was the rest of Sam's life served up on a silver platter. A full ride to the school of his dreams, then a successful future as a high class lawyer with an even higher class wife. Sam would move on from Dean, probably end up in therapy to discuss his traumatic past as both a hunter and his older brother's plaything. When Sam was all grown up, he'd forgot that Dean meant the world to him. As for Dean, he'd never be able to shake it, because Sam didn't just mean the world to him, he _was_ the world. Even though it was breaking Dean's heart, he knew this was something he'd have to accept.

This was the last time.

This was the last time they'd fuck tonight, for the next few years, maybe even for the rest of their lives. It was tearing Dean apart from the inside out. Sam was still crying, those few stray tears still dripping down his face, because he knew the end was nearing too. Knowing that, right now, he still had a hold over Sam, both physically and emotionally, made Dean cruel. He wanted Sam to feel just a fraction of the pain he was going through. It took a lot for Dean to take jabs at Sam- actually it went against every fiber of his being and made every organ in his body shriek in protest. But Dean was broken tonight, and everything was quiet.

Dean kept stroking Sam, twisting his wrist and twirling his thumb over the head. He never stopped his brutal assault on Sam's prostate, watching him gyrate his hips to meet Dean on every thrust.

"Dean," Sam breathed, "Dean 'm so close."

Dean's hand continued to work faster, hips snapping harder, bringing them both both to the edge. When Sam squeezed his eyes shut and took his bottom lip between his teeth, Dean knew he was about to find his release. He waited for the exact moment Sam started to come before making his move, gritting out the ugliest, most terrible thing he could imagine.

"I love you."

The sobs came immediately. Sam was crying and coming simultaneously, squeezing Dean like he was about to fall apart at the seams.

"I'm sorry!" he hiccuped between violent outbursts of tears, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Dean knew it was cruel. That's exactly why he said it. He wanted Sam to know this wasn't a game, he wasn't playing around, he'd never been more serious about anything in his entire life. The words weren't meant to make Sam feel better, they were said to rip him apart. Over the course of their life time, Dean has found a million other ways to say it. Whether it be through teaching Sam how to ride a bike, putting band aids over scratched up knees, or skipping a meal or two just so Sam's belly was full, Dean always made sure Sam knew. He said it so much, it was impossible for Sam to forget.

Never had he explicitly stated it though.

Choosing this moment to utter those three words meant for special occasions and sacred moments was the worst thing Dean could've done. He practically chewed them up and spit them in Sam's face. He'd taken their value and gnarled it up, twisting it so that Sam would feel pain and agony when he heard those syllables. I love you. The worst part was that Dean didn't even feel bad...not at first.

When both of them had finished, they collapsed together in a sweaty pile of worn out limbs and torn up hearts. Sam was still babbling useless apologies, petting Dean softly wherever he could.

"What do I do?" Sam wailed, mostly to himself, "Dean I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't do this. Don't leave me."

"I'm not the one leaving," Dean spat, unnecessarily cold. Sam kept crying, kept saying sorry, until his eyes ran dry and Dean's began leaking like a faucet.

"Just give it a rest," Dean sighed, "I can't do this Sam."

"What can I do? How do I fix it?" Sam pleaded earnestly.

"You can't," Dean told him honestly.

Sam threw his arms around Dean's neck and started clinging for dear life. By this point, he'd cried all he could and was starting to accept defeat. Dean was unable to find his composure, and he let the tears stream freely.  The ice around the broken bits of his heart was beginning to thaw and guilt was setting in. Pulling Sam close, Dean began damage control. He could only let Sam go for so long before his brotherly side kicked in, and he had to comfort the lanky boy in bed next to him.

"Calm down," he hushed in a gentle tone, "There's nothing else to do. Just let it go."

"Dean, I can't- I can't just-" Sam murmured in a quivering voice, shaking his head.

"Yes you can," Dean nodded, not giving him much of a choice, just like on everything else that happened tonight. "Go to sleep."

"I can't," Sam continued to protest.

"Then try," Dean commanded, pulling Sam closer. He risked a glance at the clock. "C'mon we've got twelve hours. Keep it together."

Dean's voice must have wavered, because Sam's tears stopped automatically. Dean may have been the big brother, always ready to die for his boy, do anything to keep him happy, but this was Sam. He was ready to be a grown up now, too. He didn't want to be treated like a little kid anymore, and he wanted it to be his turn to take care of Dean. If Sam's crying was upsetting Dean, he'd stop and make sure he put on the best damn brace face the world has ever seen.

"I'm not gonna forget about you," Sam said.

Dean chuckled, dark and humorless. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"S'not a promise, it's a fact," Sam said quietly, exhaustion beginning to creep into the edges of his words.

Dean tucked Sam's head under his chin. "I don't wanna say anything right now. Just let me have this one last time."

The two of them were quiet after that, focusing on nothing but the sound of their heart beats echoing in the dead of night. Sam traced patters over Dean's bicep absentmindedly until he was out cold. Dean told himself to let go of his anger, let go of his sadness, to just enjoy having Sam before time ran out. He could worry about it in the morning. Right now, Dean was just glad to feel the familiar warmth against his side. They could acknowledge all the terrible things Dean's done tonight out of spite in a few hours. Using the familiar lull of Sam's deep breathing, Dean began to ease himself into a restless sleep, preparing for the hell before him.

* * *

When morning came, Sam's half of the bed was cold. Dean outstretched his hand to run his fingers over the sheets. The pillows still smelled like cinnamon and tears, a heady mix of Sam's cologne and his broken heart. Dean buried his face in it and tried not to vomit.

He had to get used to waking up alone.

* * *

By the time Dean dragged himself out of bed, it was nearly two in the afternoon. John had got home about an hour ago, boots falling heavily on the hardwood floor of the hallway. They seemed to echo even louder now that Sam was silent. There was usually a blowout when their dad came back, he and Sam clawing at each other's throats while Dean played Switzerland in between them.

"Hey," Dean said awkwardly to Sam on the couch, when he made it to the living room.

"Hi," Sam returned, closing the book he'd been reading.

Dean scratched the back of his neck. "So, uh, about last night. I didn't mean to-"

"Yes you did," Sam interrupted. "Don't pretend you didn't. I know you wanted to hurt me, but only because I hurt you. I'm still hurting you. And I'm not asking you to take it back, because I'm hoping it means you won't ask me to stay."

Hearing it so bluntly stung. Dean practically felt Sam strike him across the face. He noticeably flinched, but he didn't try to argue. Sam didn't want him anymore, and Dean didn't want to keep Sam somewhere he felt he didn't belong.

"So this is it then?" he asked. The question was loaded, they both knew that. Dean wasn't asking if this was the end of the argument, he was asking if this was the end of their relationship, their family.

Sam shook his head. "What part of 'I'm not going to forget you' don't you understand?"

"The part where you're not by my side. Out of sight, out of mind, Sammy."

A strange look crossed Sam's face. "It sounds like you're trying to say _you're_ the one who'll forget about _me_."

Dean gave him a sad smile. "I wish I knew how."

* * *

Everything went to shit after dinner. Dean finally got the blowout he'd been waiting for. Sam told John he was leaving for Stanford that night, and their father had exploded into a fit of rage. He started throwing things, screaming profanities, asking Sam how he turned out to be such a monumental fuck up.

"I'm the fuck up?" Sam shouted incredulously, "Me? You're the one who throws himself so far into hunting he can't maintain a healthy relationship or get to sleep without seeing the bottom of a bottle of whiskey first! Any other parent would proud of their kid for making it this far!"

"I'm not any other parent!" John roared. "You have a responsibility! All three of us do! You can't just run away from your duty and go live out some teenage fantasy!"

"It's not a fantasy, Dad it's my life!"

"Hunting, Sam, that is your life!"

"No! It's not! It's _your_ life! And I don't want any part of it!"

Dean was at a loss. He didn't know how to make them stop.

"I'm done," Sam declared, heading for the duffel bag by the door, the one Dean had been pretending not to see all day. "I'm leaving and you can't stop me."

Panic started setting in. Dean felt his throat start closing as he watched his baby brother throw his bag over his shoulder and reach for the door knob. This was it, the final, dreadful moment Dean had been waiting for.

"If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back," John spat, voice murderous and low. Dean's blood turned to ice. John had put the final nail in his coffin, completely obliterating any slight chance Sam would actually come visit when he had time.

Sam hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then he was slamming the door shut, out of Dean's sight.

"No," Dean whispered, "No, no, no."

He couldn't just stand there. Hard as he tried, he couldn't allow Sam to leave him, while feeling this terrible.

"Let him go, son. It's his choice," John called out while Dean scrambled to make his legs work.

He barreled through the door and into their yard, running down their small driveway and into the street. Sam was already halfway down the road, his sasquatch legs taking him quickly to the nearest bus stop.

"Sammy," Dean called out, voice so hoarse he was afraid Sam wouldn't hear it. Thankfully, he did, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Dean felt frozen in place. Sam turned and looked at him, waiting expectantly for Dean to say anything else. Truthfully, Dean didn't know what else he could say. If he opened his mouth, he was afraid he'd start begging Sam to come back, and he didn't want to do that. Sam's small sigh was visible to Dean, even with a hundred feet between them.

Then suddenly, Sam was pacing towards Dean, moving faster than light, making the older Winchester's heart start hammering in his chest. Dean knew what was about to happen, he could sense it in the determination of Sam's walk. Before he knew it, he was closing his eyes and leaning into Sam's touch, lips moving furiously, unafraid of their father catching them, despite being right out front their house. Their kiss could only be described as animalistic, a tongue-clashing-teeth-scraping desire to eat each other up and swallow each other whole. Dean wanted nothing more than to consume Sam entirely, but he knew it wasn't possible. A million emotions were shared and thousands of words were exchanged in just a single kiss. When they pulled away, neither of them spoke. They didn't need verbal communication to convey what was going on inside their brains. They knew. A few lingering seconds of gazing intensely into each other's eyes was all that was needed to say goodbye.

Sam drew away from Dean's touch like he'd been burned, stalking down the street even faster than he had before. His shoulders were hunched tensely the entire time, and Dean watched his back until he couldn't see it anymore.

When Dean thought about this night in future years, a lot of things would cross his mind. He'd remember it as the night he developed a drinking problem, or the night that threw him into a two year rut of being unable to sleep with anyone who didn't have hazel eyes. He'd think about pain, and longing, and just about every negative emotion he could possibly conjure, but most importantly, he'd think of this as the night he gave up his freedom. That kiss had been a binding ritual, chaining Dean's heart to Sam in every way possible. No matter where Sam went, what he did, or who he was with, Dean's heart was stuck to him. It was a lingering presence, felt by both of them in the back of their minds, weighing heavy on their souls. Neither of them knew if they'd be together again, if there'd be any more kisses or sex, or late night drives with the windows down. Right now, Sam took his path, while Dean was on his own. There was only one thing they were absolutely sure of.

Dean was never getting his heart back.

**Author's Note:**

> boy oh boy this was pretty sad, and there wasn't a lot of sex, but the idea popped in my head and i couldn't go to sleep until i wrote it. unedited as usual. 
> 
> much love xo


End file.
